You Killed me
by ThisisPorky
Summary: *Re-upload* The RED Spy kills the BLU Scout when the re-spawn is off. So...what happens now?
1. Chapter 1: Lets play a Game,

''ou are nothin more 'zan a waste of space! You vere made just for my amusement; to be killed over and over again by me. Look at you! Crawling away in fear!' The Spy chuckled darkly as he stomped onto the mans leg hard, making him cry out in pain and stop his crawling. 'It is time for you to die. Permanently.' The boy rolled over to face him. A shot rolled over the buildings, followed by a loud and painful cry. 'It 'as been a long run,' Another shot and cry was heard. 'and I 'ave 'ad many laughs along 'ze way,' Yet again, another two were heard rolling past buildings and the empty ground. 'But 'zis is vhere your life ends, as vell as my amusement.'

'Y-ya fr...frickin'...ja-jack-ass...' Scout whimpered, a bullet in both his shoulders and legs, blood pouring from each wound as he glared up at the man. What a perfect time to pick; when the re-spawn was off so he couldn't come back to the living. Maybe even planed.

'Vhat was 'zat?' Spy asked, lifting his free hand to his ear in a mocking way. 'I am sorry; I did not know cowards had voices.' Taking his hand to his jacket pocket, he flipped out his beloved Butterfly knife, swapping the weapons in his hands. Now, his Revolver rested in his left hand while the knife laid in his right. The French cigarette rolled about in his mouth as he glared down at Scout, glints of pleasure aligned in his eyes. He was now stood over the boy, his feet at both sides of his bleeding sides, looking down at him with that evil smile plastered to his masked face. He playfully twirled the knife around his fingers. Scout panted more heavily, and fear was now sparking his eyes.

'Do you know vhat vould 'appen if I let 'zis veapon slip from my 'and?' He taunted, the weapon now over his pounding heart, that sick smile widening. In this dim moon-light, it looked like his eyes were flaring with fire. He waddled the knife slowly, tilting his head.

'D-do it,' Scout whispered, his whole body shaking gently as more blood escaped the open holes in his quivering body, 'Co-come on, y-ya French fagg-faggot, k-kill me!'

'Your Mother never _really_ loved you.' With that, Spy released the knife. It jammed into his heart, the delightful noise of the strong metal piercing his skin and heart like music to the sick mans ears. The boy gasped, his breathing going quick and rough as he body began to violently shake. His head and eyes rolled back as blood oozed from his knife wound, sinking into his blue coloured shirt nicely. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth and nose.

'Here lies Scout,' Spy said bitterly as Scout slowly rose his head, the boys eyes as wide as dinner plates. The French man smiled down cruelly at him, slowly rising his revolver to the boys head and taking his aim. ''e ran fast, and died a virgin.'

The last shot was heard.

After a few moments, everything went silent.

Spy looked down at the bleeding corpse before him, now side-stepping and standing beside it. He rolled the cig in his mouth slowly before removing it, blowing out smoke from his nose. Then, a dark chuckle escaped him as he threw the cig near body. 'I vill see you 'n hell, you foul abomination.' He spat, that smirk still visible. Looking around to make sure no one had witnessed the scene, he put his gun back into his jacket pocket and looked at the knife. People would know who had done this with just the wound to study. He had to make look like a different class had done it, and quickly, before anyone caught onto the scent of the killing.

He tore the knife out of his chest, the blood spouting out in a small, weak river. Pulling the blue shirt up, reveling his old scares and skinny stomach, he began to randomly slash at it. The boys body moved limply at the attacks made as more and more gashes were made. Blood heavily poured from the wounds.

Spy pulled the top down before pulling out a clean hanker-chef from his trouser pocket and wiping the knife clean the best he could. The blood immediately started soaking into the blue cloth. Looking around once more, he looked down to the boy. The dog-tags glinted in the dim moon-light over head despite the fact that a few small blood stains had been splattered onto the silver metal, and that caught his eyes. Holding both the knife and hanker in one hand, his other free one reached out towards the one with the curvy writing on it. "Kyle Clarkson", it read. That smile again tugged at the corner of his lips as he let it go, twirling the necklace around until he found the clip holding them around his neck. He un-clipped it and took it from around his neck, clipping it back together so the tags couldn't fall away from the line.

But he couldn't leave without one more thing to put into place. He'd stored the item for this very moment, and truth be told, he was very excited in using it.

He reached into his back pocket, retrieving a Stake. A wooden one, which looked scratched and worn, but still usable. Where he'd found it and why was unknown, and was a different story, but it still didn't dispute the fact that he had this thing. He placed the knife into one of his many pockets, running a gloved finger down to the sharp tip of the Stake carefully, that smile still there. ''Zis vas too tempting.' He spoke gently, looking to the boys chest. And, with a quick action, he flicked the Stake into the same spot where he'd been stabbed with the knife. Blood made that "vish" sound as some splatted out, a small splatter of blood ringing the attack.

Checking everything over, he nodded to himself, got up, placed his hands behind his back and calmly walked away, back to the RED base.

The moon was high in the sky. Everything was eerily quiet, and there was an un settling feeling that something was watching your back, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and kill you. Random shadows of night-birds quickly whizzed past on the building-walls, and a random sound was heard every now and then, but it soon remained quiet once more. The millions and millions of stars that decorated the night sky, along with the moon itself, were the only things - sparing a torch, or flashlight, if you will - that had the light to show the way.

Out in this eerie and - dare I say - dark environment was none other than a bear. A shaved one at that. A smart one that could talk a few different languages and even wore clothes, and was even smart enough to handle a mini-gun in an expert manner of understanding how the gun works and how to fire and so fourth. Did I mention he was also from Russia? And his name, you ask?

The Heavy weapons guy. You know, that big guy that knows a lot about guns.

He was the only one up at such a late time at midnight, and was the only one that had heard what sounded like gun-shots coming from the West side of the bases. Deciding to check it out was his mission. He'd taken out his shot-gun, which he held ready to shot off anything if needs be in his giant paws, the gun seemingly small in his giant hands.

'Hello?' He called gently. A small ally-way awaited him; he thought that this was where the sound had originally come from. It sounded far off, but not too far close to the RED base. Somewhere in the middle.

Making his way down there, he made sure his steps were lighter than usual so that he had the element of surprise. He was good with that; especially with his "Tomislav" mini gun. But something strange caught his nose. The smell of blood. Fresh blood, at that. That was something no one ever missed - especially here. But the re-spawn was off, and no one should be fighting to kill now... They would never do that, would they...?

'Hello?' He called more loudly. No reply. Though, he soon found the reason for the bloody smell a few feet in front of him. '...Scout?!' He dropped the gun to the floor in a hurry, rushing over to the dead body. Of course, he lay without quivering or responding to the man.

'Scout!' He almost screamed, dropping to one knee and holding the mans head. Even the ever so strong and mighty Heavy had to look away when he saw the boys left eye running with blood, a silver bullet lodged in it. Blood dripped from the wound, making it look as though he was crying blood, while the other stared into oblivion. The pupil in the left one had completely disappeared from view. 'Scout, vake up!' It was a long-shot. Even he knew that he would never wake up again. Not with a bullet in his eye and a stake hanging from his chest.

The bear seemed to stay knelled down beside the boy for hours, just staring at him. But what seemed like hours were just mere minuets that seemed to sluggishly pass by. It seemed the more he stared and studied Scouts body, the more wounds he picked up on with his small and keen eyes. The one bullet to the left shoulder turned to another bullet to his right. One bullet to his right leg turned into another bullet lodged in his left. The blood stains on his shirt seemed to turn into fresh gashes of some kind of animal with sharp claws when his shirt was lifted, but there weren't any animals out here apart from birds, and they'd have to be really accurate with the slashes while not getting his shirt to tear. And why would Scout be holding his shirt up in chilly weather like this? Was he wanting to get slashed by something?

'Who vould do this...?' Heavy asked aloud to no one but himself and a dead man. He closed his eyes before opening them again, looking into the boys lifeless and ruined own. With two sausage fingers, he closed the good one, doing the same to his partly opened mouth. Now he lay without the ache of attention or pain, or even shock streaked in his face. Now, he looked young and peaceful, almost. The only thing missing was his trade-mark dog-tags. But Heavy was in too much of a state to even notice them gone.

Instead, he got up. He looked down at him and did the cross on his chest slowly. He then looked around before walking on. He didn't know what to do with the body. He didn't know how to dispose of him; he could never do that, anyway.

Heavy walked over to his dropped gun. Picking it up, he looked over to Scout. 'You vere best...' He spoke gently. 'Vere fast and good vith leetle gun... This should not have happened, and I sorry I vas not there for you...' He chocked back the tears. 'Vere like son...to me...' The sight was too painful to look at. Not even Medic's healing gun could make Scout breathe again, not make his heart beat again. That only worked in battle-time, and only worked out of that time when there was a miner cut. The bear remembered Soldier breaking his arm thanks to him and Demo's "play-fighting", and the Heal-gun couldn't fix it until they were fighting the RED's.

This was far worse than a broken arm.

'Ve vill remember leetle Scout. Forever and always...' He nodded his head and said his respects in Russian before turning and walking away. The gun was resting on his shoulder as thoughts as to why and who had done this to him swam in his head. Rage slowly rose from his chest, settling in his stomach as it bubbled with every step he took. The grip on the gun was slowly tightening, so was his gloved fist.

A few hours had passed since then. It was still dark out, the sky still littered with the millions of stars still lighting the way to where ever it was you were heading. The peace remained in the murder scene; not even a bug seemed to disturb it or try to shatter it.

Suddenly, green sparks appeared on the dead corpse body, breaking that peace. It didn't make a sound, though. Much like the electricity on a volt line, the currents of this strange occurrence cursed up and down the boys arms and legs, down his slender and slashed stomach, and flashed over his face. The body jerked up before slumping back to the cold and hard ground again. Then, everything stopped. The jolts of electricity disappeared, and everything was still and peaceful once more.

A crows voice sounded in the distance before the strong flap of wings. A cricket made that noise that always filled an awkward situation or just to fill in silent gaps. The sound of a Rattle-Snake slithering across the dirt was heard, the gentle hissing also present. Another crow sounded in the distance, the skitter of a lizards feet on the cool sand filled the air.

Then, the silence returned to the land once more.


	2. Chapter 2: Of Hide and Seak

'I 'ave killed 'im.'

'...Vhat? You...actually vent through vith it...?'

'Oui.'

'And you are telling me all 'zis information...vhy?'

'Because I need your 'elp in disposing of ze body.'

'...'

The RED Spy looked over to the RED Medic questionably, a brow raised. 'You 'ave a problem vith 'zat?'

'Kind of, ja.'

'Care to share it?'

'Are you sure 'zis won't eat into your concision's?'

'I'm sorry?'

Medic shuck his head and pinched his nose gently, closing his eyes tight. He'd been up all night writing out - in his opinion - pages and pages of pointless reports, and for what sake? They'd only be thrown away the next day because Solider couldn't be arsed to read them all, and quickly discarded them as "nothing". But, nether-the-less, it was something to do; to take his mind off of this place. It was a chore he didn't mind doing at the best of times. It only made him cranky in the morning because of lack of sleep.

'All I am saying is 'zat, vill you regret it later?'

'Vhat, killing 'im?' Spy snorted back a laugh. 'No. I von't. And vhy should I?' He brushed of a random spec of dirt from his suit and straightened his tie, all the while keeping his gaze down to the floor in thought. Some part of him was screaming that it was wrong, that it should have never happened. But a bigger part of him drowned that small voice out with strong reasons for killing him rather than against.

'You are dating his Mother, ja?' Medic asked, making something inside the French man suddenly snap, all the screams inside of him going quiet. 'How is _she_ going to feel vhen she gets 'zat call? Saying 'zat her youngest son is dead after she was promised that he vould never die, herr, Spy?'

'Do not bring her into 'zis...'

'All I am saying is, have you done something right, or have you drowned yourself?'

It went quiet. Even the creatures of the night had quietened down. It was a tense atmosphere, one that was only getting worse thanks to the Spy. A frown was aligned in his masked mans face, sparks of thought twinkling in his dark blue eyes as the words replayed themselves over and over in his head. What was his Mother going to think? But then again, she didn't have to know that he'd killed her son, right? If that part is kept quiet about, then there's nothing to worry about...no worry that she's gonna hate him for what she's done. Yeah, he'll just blame someone else.

'Ve do not tell 'er.' He said, his thoughts seemingly clear. 'No one vas around vhen I killed 'im, so I von't have a court-case vith evidence. People can point 'ze finger at me, but vhat prove do 'zey 'ave?'

'You vill crack,' Medic pointed out, slowly stepping forward. He was careful; hell, he'd just killed a man; but he was still his friend, and he still was working with him, not against him, no matter how much he thought wrong of the situation. ''Ze pressure vill drain on you, and you vill do nothing more 'zan break down and cry. She vill drive you mad about it; believe me, she vill keep going on and on about how great her son vas to her and vhat he did for her. And you von't be able to live with 'ze fact 'zat you killed her son.'

'She 'as seven more...'

''Zat still won't drown out 'ze fact 'zat she didn't get to say good-bye to her child, herr, Spy!'

The two glared at each other, gloved hands balled to fists. That voice that was screaming inside the Spy about all the wrong reasons was slowly getting louder in his head; he was sure that both voices would soon be at war with who was the loudest. After a small while, the French man took a deep breath.

'...I still need your 'elp, mon cher. 'ou are 'ze only person I can think of for 'ze job.'

'I am only assisting you in moving 'ze body. Nothing else.'

'You 'ave my word so long as you don't say anything about 'zis to anyone; not even 'ze Heavy.'

Medic nodded. 'So vhere is 'ze body?'

* * *

'...Vhat?'

'...'e was right here, I swear...!'

The two stared at the puddle of blood in the dark ally-way dumbfounded. Bloody foot-steps were seen walking to where there was a ladder leading to the roof, and that's where the trail ended. If someone had picked the Scouts dead body up and moved it else-where, they'd gone up the ladder. But why up there? Why not just throw it over the fence? Why not clean their trail up instead of leaving it?

'You are sure you killed him, herr, Spy, right?'

'Of course I did! Not many people survive a stabbing vith a 'nife replaced by a Stake in zhere 'eart and a bullet in their eye, Medic! Even 'ou, of all people, know 'zat!' Spy was beginning to panic. What if one of the BLU's had moved it? Or, worse-even, one of the RED's? What was the point in taking it to the roof? What was so special up there that would hide away a body? 'It 'as to be somevhere! Ve cannot just stop looking for it!'

'Herr, Spy, calm down,' Medic muttered, moving the glasses more up his slender nose. 'It cannot have gone far. Scout is no light-veight to say he is a bunny. 'Ze person vould have had trouble carrying his body up zhose stairs.'

'Vhy up zhere, though?!'

'How vould I know?!'

Spy shuck his head angrily, making his way over to them. Blood had been dripped down to the floor, and a few specs were splattered on the iron bars. 'Someone did it,' He muttered. He was losing his cool.

Meanwhile, Medic was still inspecting the bloody scene. In the flood of blood, he saw a bullet. A silver bullet covered in the red liquid. A bullet that had come from a Revolver of some sort. 'Herr, Spy,' He called, bending it down and taking a careful hold of the item with his gloved hands. He pulled himself up as the French man walked over to him. 'Is 'zis from one of your guns?'

'Vhy yes, it is...' It wasn't a shell. It was an actual bullet from his gun; the same gun he'd used on the boy. 'I left no shells...and I didn't miss 'im...'

'I have a bad feeling about 'zis...' Medic muttered, feeling uneasy with where he was standing. He felt like something with angry eyes was watching them. Waiting deep in the darkness and just waiting to pounce onto them, to rip them to shreds and feed on their liver and flesh and bones and drink their blood and-

...

Let's not venture too much into Medic's thoughts.

'Spy, it is gone; vhy not leave it 'zat vay and get out of here, ja? Ve vill look suspicious, like complete dumpkoffs!'

'...'

Medic had already dropped the bullet and was quickly making his way to the RED base without his partner. Spy just stared blankly at the floor, the sound of crickets doing that noise thing filling the air. The sound of birds wings pounding the air was heard, breaking Spy from his trance. Shaking his head, he rubbed it with a gloved hand and slowly started following the Medic back to their respective base.

'I just need a lie down...' He told himself. 'A good nights rest...' A gentle noise made him stop in his tracks and look over his shoulder. A small bump on a roof. His dark blue eyes darted from one place to the next, but nothing could be seen. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

'Herr, Spy, come on, dumpkoff!' Medic hissed to him, making his head snap back to the German. 'Do you vant to be caught out by zomeone?!' That made the man move.

The two figures disappeared from sight, that settling moment once again filling the place for much more than a moment. Peace once again reigned on the land.


	3. Chapter 3: Now, that's cheating

It had been an awkward day for the battles all that dark and gloomy day.

The news of the BLU Scouts death had first been reported to the BLU team via Heavy. Later, the Administrators metal ears picked up on the news, and first thing in the morning, she reported it to both the already knowing BLU's and confused RED's. But even with the loss of a class, she insisted that this wouldn't stop the little "war" from continuing that day.

So they fought.

The war wasn't as heated and raged-filled as normal. Usually, everyone would be at each others throats, and domination's would ring though the whole land in many numbers from both sides. But not a single one had sounded through the whole place; the only one killing the same amount of people as if it was any other old day was the RED Spy, glad-fully sinking his knife deep into the Mecr's backs without much care though not earning any domination's with his knife skills. As the bodies fell at his feet, he chuckled, sometimes replacing his finishing cig and throwing the used one over the body or showed off his knife swinging skills, and moved onto his next victim. But everyone else had fallen sluggish and nonreactive to the whole thing, just looking at the enemy and debating whether or not they should kill them or just ignore them. The Intel was only touched a few times, though not as many as normal.

The RED's Scout didn't leave the base much during the fight. He stayed behind and helped Pyro Spy-check or watch Engineer build his Sentries and Dispensers, or just watched the war rage on on the bridge from the safety of ducking behind the wooden wall whenever he was spotted by BLU's Sniper. It wouldn't be fair if he kept getting their Intel, since no one was as fast as him on the other side. It made things more...fair.

When he did leave the base, it was when there was no one around, and he usually went the sewers way. Occasionally, he found a Teleporter belonging to RED hiding behind a tight wall, to which he destroyed it and traveled on. Sure, he was bored, but even he found this whole thing unfair and wrong. The other Scout shouldn't be dead. No one was supposed to die properly out here - that's the whole point of Re-Spawn. And no one would be sick enough to murder him, would they? Did the boy know everyone on his team well enough to know that one fact, or was everyone just a complete stranger?

Soon, the battle ended with no captures to both teams. It was a "Stale-Mate", and the Administrator found no point in going to Sudden Death.

The classes retreated to their respectful bases. All expect one. One that stood in a dark alleyway smoking, a deep thought of concentration across his masked face. His foot gently tapped the concrete as he sighed deeply, smoke leaving his nostrils, the same way a dragon would if fire was slowly making its way up its throat, ready to leave its body and be spewed onto a tree or human or whatever it was that was pissing it off, or a pissed off person in a cartoon kind of fashion. His eyes were closed tightly as more thoughts entered his mind. But then, sadness slowly took over, pushing the thoughts away.

_'Aw, come on, Spy - ya KNOW 'dis shit suits me!' _The BLU Scout wailed, his long arms gently swinging in the air like a bird was trying to take off for flight. That stupid grin was across his young face as the Spy's "Fancy Fedora" hat sat a-top his head, the brim slightly covering his bright blue eyes. His giggles were like a little girl watching her crush do something, like carrying something heavy or just talking to another dude.

_'Mon ami,'_ Spy started, tapping his chin with his gloved finger and fighting back the urge to smile as he studied the boys fancy yet ridicules look. _'For a start, it does not even fit 'ou,' _He lifted the brim with his free hand, so their eyes could lock. _'And second, 'ou are not even French~'_

_'What? Why do ya 'ave ta be a fag ta wear somethin' like 'dis?'_ Scout asked, tilting his head as his eyes were once again covered by the hats brim.

_'Ve are not "fags", mon cheir. And it fits French people because it vas made by 'ze French therefore suiting us more.' _A small chuckle escaped him as Scout giggled again, lifting the hat off his head with his two small, bandaged hands.

_'Yeah, yeah, whateva'. Just 'cause I'm not a faggy French guy don't mean 'dat hat don't suit me.'_

_'Vhatever, mon lapin~'_

He liked him wearing that hat.

No matter who said it - be it one of his team members or the leader of the whole thing - , the words just didn't sink into the Spy's mind enough. There was no way Scout could be dead, no way at all! Why would he be? Why would anyone have enough grudge to kill him when the Re-Spawn was off? Wasn't killing him on the battle-field filling whatever revenge that person had against him enough? Why finish him properly? To make that person feel better about themselves?

'Spy!' Called a gentle voice to his left. His eyes snapped open. Scout...? 'Spy!' Called that Boston voice again. Surely RED's Scout, right?

He looked towards the voice, and his eyes fell onto the BLU Scout. He was alive...?

There were no blood splashes on his shirt, no stake hanging from his chest, no shiny bullet in his eye. He was standing fine and tall, proudly and strongly. His left eye looked fine; that same bright blue as always, shining in the dim light. He did that wave that told someone to follow them or come closer, and all the Spy did was stare be-wielded at the boy. His jaw was open, the cigarette slowly slipping from his mouth as he continued to stare at the boys waving arm. Was his mind playing tricks with him? Making him make something look like the boy was still alive?

Slowly, the cig dropped to the floor, and he stepped over it like a zombie had seen a human. His eyes were wide and mouth was hanging open like a fish as he slowly stepped towards the boy. 'Come on!' He giggled before sinking away into the darkness.

'No! Vait!' Spy cried, going into a dash. His gloved hands turned into fists as his feet pounded the hard floor, disappearing into the darkness. Skidding to an abrupt halt, he looked around, his eyes trying to quickly adjust to the dark atmosphere.

Quiet and careful foot-steps were heard echoing around him, and his head darted from here to there, his eyes wide and alert. 'Scout, please! Everyone thinks you're dead!'

'Is 'dat so?' He asked, his Boston voice dripping with mock and joy.

'Y-yes!'

'Hmm, 'dats weird,' he mumbled, the light foot-steps slowly getting closer to the man. ''A thought no one cared.'

'V-vhat are you saying, mon cheir?' Spy asked the darkness, his eyes still roving the place for the boys silhouette. 'Ve miss 'ou! Ve vant 'ou back in our base vhere 'ou belong!'

A dark chuckle echoed around him. 'But I don't wanna come back.'

A loud clank of metal hitting flesh was heard, followed by a loud gasp and thump.


	4. Chapter 4: Play fair

'Oh, Spy - falling for 'ze oldest trick in 'ze book? I expect more from 'ou - I really did.'

The BLU Spy awoke, immediately greeted with a pounding pain in his head and darkness clouding his vision. His eyes were heavy, and he was up right. His hands and legs were bounded to the chair and tight rope. Blood trickled from his head and some lightly dripped from his nose, and dizziness be-fell him slowly.

'Oh, you are avake,' The French man remarked, his voice dripping with cruel joy and echoing around the dark room. 'at long last. I thought 'ou vere dead.'

'Vhat...? Vhere's...vhere's Scout...?'

'Like I 'aid, mon ami; 'ze oldest trick in 'ze book.' The man moaned gently as his head dropped, only to be picked up by a gloved finger and thumb under his chin.

'Oh, mon cheir, do not look so down,' Spy said gently, that sick smirk marking his lips. ''Ze future 'olds many things to be desired. And if 'ou do not tell me all vhat I need to know,I am afraid 'ou can kiss goodbye to it.' He removed his hand roughly, the Spy's head rolling limply into his chest as his eyes closed again. 'Now, I vould take 'ze strong advise of listening closely to 'ze questions, if I vere 'ou, vhich, I some-vhat 'm, in a sense.' He chuckled gently.

'Vhat...?'

'Vell, 'zhere was something quite...odd, if you vill, about one scene in 'zat one alleyway. Concerning a body. Maybe 'ou know vhat I am talking about?'

'...Scout...?'

'Oui. I vas just 'ondering if 'ou 'ad seen it.'

'...'

'Do take all 'ze time 'ou need, so long as it is truthful. If you 'ave lied...' The BLU's head raised again as Spy's Butterfly knife had been pointed under his chin, forcing to raise his pounding and hurting head so there light blue eyes locked. BLU's were swimming with fear, RED's filled with lust for blood and some-what anger. ''Zen I think I vill 'ave some...let's say, "fun" vith you.'

'L-look, I 'aven't seen 'ze boys body! I don't ev-even know vhich alleyvay it is!' Spy pleaded, the knife pressing his head more into the air.

'Come, now, it vould not 'urt in telling 'ze truth, non? It certainly vill 'urt telling lies~'

'I-I am telling 'ze tr-truth! You 'ave to b-believe me!'

RED hummed. He looked his counter-part in the eyes before chuckling darkly, slipping the knife away. Spy panted gently from fear as he weakly lifted his head up to face him, the Spy slowly circling around him. His hands were behind his back as he was deep in thought, his masked head raised and eyes looking at the ceiling.

'I am not really in 'ze mood for lies, mon ami. For blood spill, yes, but not for lies. Especially from a fellow Spy.'

'Ve may b-be Spies, but ve v-vear different colours, remember?'

'Ah, quite true, but it still doesn't mean you cannot tell me vhere 'ze body 's. 'Zat means 'ou are hiding 'im, non?'

'I told 'ou, I don't know anything!'

'As you know,' RED started, coming into his line of vision again, his hands still behind his back and his cig still twirling with smoke. 'Ve Spies are very busy people. And ve do not like our times being vasted, non? As I am sure 'ou do not like 'aving your time vasted, so I suggest 'ou tell us all zhere is to know about vhere 'zat body is, and I suggest 'ou do it now, before your blood decorates 'ze valls!'

'Look, I svear o-on my life, I 'aven't seen 'ze b-body nor Sc-Scout since he disappeared!'

The RED walked behind the BLU's chair, and stopped. The gentle clicking of the Spy's shoes stopped dead in the air, and everything went quiet. A small and gentle chuckle was heard from behind the BLU Spy, making him suddenly nervous. Spies would be Spies. And unless they were in a very good mood - far from what the RED was - they always kept there threats as promises. Piss off a Spy - a good one - and he tells you he's going to spill the floors and decorate the walls with your blood, then they'll damn right do it without much hesitation.

He knew that more than anything, and he was in a bad position to be cocky.

'Vell, 'zis might jog 'our memory!' The RED's Butterfly knife was plunged deep into the BLU's right arm, sending him into a sharp and loud scream. His head rolled back as blood poured from the wound like a river as soon as the weapon was pulled away. Spy jolted and jumped in his seat, trying with all his might to get free, to cut the ropes away and strangle that Spy with his gloved hands, but no matter what action he did, the ropes stayed still and firm.

'Vell?!' The RED Spy shouted in his ear as the BLU yelped and bit his lip to keep the whimpers back.

'I t-told yo-you, I ha-haven't see-seen 'im...!'

'Still keeping your word, hmm? Maybe I should stab 'ou in 'ze other arm; 'zat may make you remember things you might be forgetting!'

'Y-you're mad!'

Just as the RED was about to make another strike, a loud clang sound was heard, making the bounded slender man flinch and close his eyes tightly. His body shivered in pain as more blood escaped the open wound from his shoulder. Then, a soft moan sounded before a loud thump, and then the sound of a body being dragged on the hard, concrete floor.

After a few seconds, all the sounds died down, quietness replacing the dark room. The BLU opened his eyes after what felt like hours, the pain in his arm seemingly fading away.

'...'ello...?' He called out gently, looking around. Though his vision was going dizzy from the hole in his arm, and the darkness wasn't helping none, either. But then, gentle clicks of shoes were heard on the ground, slowly making there way to the front of the chair where Spy was facing, though keeping well hidden in the dark. '...Hello?' He called again, much braver than the first time.

The sound of something sounded like it was scribbling on a piece of paper. What made the pain spark up again was the sudden piece of paper slide across the floor, landing in his perfect vision. It made him jump before hiss, closing his eyes as the pain started up again. But after a small while, he opened them again, faced by the average sized piece of paper with black coal scribbled writing facing him, some of the words in bold, with a few small spots of red decorating it here and there, like something had dripped on it. The writing was normal and a small size, yet scruffy, but still readable.

"Cl**Os**E **YO**UR E**Y**E**s**" it read, the capitals in mixed size all over the place.

'Vhy?' Spy questioned, looking into the darkness. 'Vhat 'appened vith 'ze RED?' Again, that same scribbling sound was heard before another piece of paper flew onto the scene.

"jU**s**t d**O** iT

**h**E**s** bEEn **sO**RTEd"

'...Okay...' With that, his eye-lids closed. A small while passed before the gentle click sounds of someone's shoes made there way to where the Spy had been seated. The ropes on his left arm and both legs had been cut free, but his right was still bounded. The soft scribble was now heard right beside him, and he felt something be gently placed in his lap before the clicks were sounded again, echoing across the room.

When the sounds faded away once more, Spy peeked one eye open. He saw nothing, so he assumed he could have his sight back again. He looked down, and facing him was another piece of paper and a Butterfly knife, though not his own. His was back at the base, safely tucked in one of the many draws.

"**YO**U Can **s**oRT **YO**UR**s**Elf **O**UT

g**O** **s**EE mEdIC b**O**Ut **YO**UR aRm" was what was printed on it.

'...T...thank you...' Spy whispered as he clutched the knife and swiftly broke the rope used to tie boxes together away from his arm and the arm of the chair. When his arm rose, he yelped, and his masked face twisted in pain. Again, another piece of paper slid on the floor, though not as skillfully as the first few times. The French man had to bend down and scoop it up in order to read it.

"**YO**U'll bE finE, ju**s**t WalK iT **O**ff" it said.

'...I vill...try, mon cheir.' Spy responded with a smile. He liked this mute figure. Another paper flew into the scene, and again, Spy dropped the one in his hand and scooped this one up.

"bE QuiCk, hE w**O**n'T bE pa**ss**Ed OUT f**O**REvER" Nodding, Spy dropped it, and made a dash for the door, not even bothering to look for the figure who helped him.

And even if he did, the figure wouldn't have stopped for a chat.

He's far too busy for small talk at the moment.


	5. Chapter 5: I don't wanna Kill you yet

When the RED Spy opened his eyes, he saw darkness all around him. The suited man was standing in the middle of no-where, his eyes slowly roving the place. He looked to his left, saw darkness in his path, to his right laid the same thing. But when he turned around, he saw a sight that made a sick smile slowly mark his masked face.

There lay the BLU Scout, sprawled out on his back and and bleeding from his bullet wounds in his arms and legs, and the wooden stake stuck out proudly from his chest. His eyes were closed, as was his mouth, and he looked peaceful. All the pain and dread had disappeared, replaced with glee and happiness. His slow footsteps echoed through the place as the heels of his shoes clicked on the hard floor, and his distance closed. Standing over the corpse of this man pleased him more than he ever thought it would; just the thought of the most annoying man in his life being dead at his feet was one of the best feelings he could ever accomplish to feel swimming in his gut, and he didn't want it to go away. Not just yet.

Taking out his revolver from his suit pocket, he checked the inside contents. Fully loaded. Hell, he didn't even care if he was still alive, he just wanted to feel the glee inside him intensify when he shot him in the chest, in the arms and legs, in the head. Just something that made him smile and heart to flutter.

'You von't be missed.' He took his aim. He was about to fire. But something stopped him.

That peaceful feeling that hung in the air had been broken by a simple move of a corpse. By itself.

It seemed to slowly, oh-so-slowly, move itself onto its butt, its head falling to his chest as his eyes remained closed. Spy, who watched everything at a very close view-range, felt his eyes widen at the very sight infront of him. His body began to shiver gently as the corpse began to get to its feet, its head remaining on its blood-covered shirt. Its arms hung loosely and sloppily at its sides, and the bullet wounds could clearly be seen. Blood marks were splashed on his blue coloured shirt, on the skin of where his wounds were placed, and some parts of his clothes were torn and ripped.

'No...' Spy muttered, taking a step back, the weapon dropping from his gloved hand. It landed on the floor harshly, gently bouncing before coming to a rest. But all the boy did was just stand there, making the man raise a brow.

'V-vell...? Aren't y-you going to do something?' He was growing angry. He was waiting for something to happen, and he was wasting time. Why wasn't he bending down and scooping up his gun and shooting him? Why wasn't he reacting and doing something other than standing there looking like an idiot and staring at a standing corpse? Was he even dead in the first place? How could someone stand with bullet wounds and a stake in his chest? How was it possible?

'Come on! Do something!' Nothing. 'Are you just going to stand there?' Nothing. 'Say something, you imbecile!' Silence be-fell him, only making the fear disappeared, only to be replaced with anger and frustration. This was the reason he killed him in the first place; not cutting the slack and just being a useless waste of space in the first place.

But then, his head raised off his chest. His eyes remained closed, and his held tilted slightly to the right. Spy watched him, wanting to know what the boy would do next but also wanting to shoot him where he stood. His eyes opened.

In the left eye was a silver bullet, while the right was clear of any colour other than white, a small black spot right in the middle of it. A small spiral swayed in the mans stomach as he stared into the Scouts eyes, sick slowly oozing its way to his throat. All that fear was coming back.

Suddenly, a small smile crossed his face. His head continued to tilt to the right, and slowly, red liquid dribbled from the corners of his mouth. The same story was with his eyes, more coming from his left than his right. It looked like a river. Then, a river came streaming from his forehead, trickling down the bridge of his nose and connecting with the flow from his mouth.

'Vhat...?' Spy watched as the boy took a lazy step forward, that smile getting wider and more blood flowing from his mouth as he gained another step, losing one as Spy took a step back. 'G-get avay from me!' Another fast step forward, another slow step back. Spy was shaking, now, and the darkness didn't help none, either. It felt like the dead souls of the lost were reaching out and trying to grab him with clawed hands, try to drag him into the lonely darkness and swallow him whole. 'S-stay avay!'

'You killed me...' The words were frozen in ice, leaving a heavy, daunting feeling in the air and hanging in the frogs chest. Spy could feel his jaw drop to the floor as he watched the corpses limp lips slowly move as the words slowly spewed from him, and he took another step back.

Then, a loud roar escaped Scout as he leaped forward, rows and rows of teeth awaiting him as his bloodied bandaged hands were raised to the frogs throat to strangle the life out of him, a blood-curling scream escaping from Spy's throat as he fell back-

A sharp gasp and small silent scream later, the RED's Spy's eyes snapped open. His panicked pants were heard as his chest heaved in and out, and when he tried looking around, pain snapped in the back of his head, making the frog groan and slowly move his head back to place, his eyes closing tightly. After a few minuets of gathering his thoughts and trying to calm his beating heart down, he re-opened them again to check his environment.

A ring of light was around him, and he soon found out that he was sat in a chair, his right arm and both legs bounded tightly to the chairs arm and legs by thick rope. On the floor near his feet were two pieces of paper, both with that scribbled writing on it with those char-coal pencil things, both spots and smudges of black and red on the slightly yellowed paper. The writing was scruffy, child-like, and weird; some of the letters were capitalized, some of the letters were scribbled to make them look more bolder, but even with this effect it was still pretty readable, but a little off-putting.

"**hO**pE**F**ull**Y** Y**O**UR n**O**t dEad

If **YO**UR REadIng ThI**s **T**h**En **YO**U aInt, w**h**ICh Is g**OO**d

IT**s** t**OO** **sOO**n"

Spy looked on, a little confused at first but intending to find out. He was a little annoyed by the fact that this person - his kidnapper - lacked basic grammar skills. As he roved his eyes over to the second piece of paper, there lay his bloodied Butterfly knife just a few centimeters away from the second page of saying "hi". The gears in the frogs head began to spin slowly and painfully as he read the second page of painful greeting, to which he found the bottom right corner had been torn off quite sloppily.

"I wanna pla**Y** a gamE

If **YO**U managE T**O** bREak T**h**E r**O**pE**s** **YO**U Can lEavE

If **YO**UR **s**tIll tIEd b**Y** T**h**E TImE I gE"

That's where it was cut off by the sudden rip. Spy raised a brow. Usually, if something like this happened - which was very rare to anyone - he swore himself to try to keep cool and calm the best he could. But now, he was breaking that swear he promised so long to keep. He was worried for his life. More than he'd ever been. What other things was this person - his kidnapper - capable of?

After the thoughts washed over and sunk into the mans mind, his eyes darted back to the knife. A plan slowly started to form in his head, about slowly shifting the chair forward. He could try and scoop up the knife with his free hand, but his head was beginning to swim with pain and dizziness. He couldn't black out again; not now, not here. Wanting to get out of this place was strongly placed in his mind, and there was no way to change that thought.

With those panicked thoughts still in tact, he decided to put forth his plan.

* * *

'So, vhat you're saying is 'zat a person - a mute person - helped you from 'zis room - only guiding you vith pieces of paper - from 'ze RED base? And 'zat 'ze RED Spy led you on, knocked you out, and dragged you to 'zis room?'

'Oui. Everything I 'ave said is 'ze truth. If it vas not for 'zat person to knock 'ze RED Spy out of it, I vould not be here.'

Medic gently tapped his chin with his gloved finger as he thought about it. A puzzled look marked his face. The more he thought about the ordeal, the more of a headache he received from all the clonking and clicking from the gears spinning in his head. In the end, his tapping from the chin changed to rubbing on the head with both hands, and he instead just decided not to put much thinking into the whole thing.

'I do not even vant to think about 'zis,' Medic said finally, opening his eyes and snapping his cold ice eyes to the frogs wound. With his jacket, tie and shirt removed, he saw that it was a stab-wound on the right arm, that had disappeared into the skin rather deeply. He'd cleaned the blood around the wound expertly, and was now getting to sewing it together. 'So vhy did he kid-nap you and do vhat he did?'

'He kept asking me vhether I knew vhere Sco...Scouts b-body vas...' His face fell, and even when the needle pierced his skin, the pain wasn't enough the break him from the spell. 'Just kept going on and on about vhere 'is body vas, h-he vouldn't shut up...'

'Zhere zhere, herr, Spy.'

'He knows something...'

'Of he kept on like 'zat zhen I'm sure he does. But ve must not go into it any deeper. You vill have your revenge on 'ze battlefield.'

'...'

After a while of awkward silence and deep thinking, Medic was finally finished. He placed the needle in the sink and looked at the frog, giving him a weak smile.

'Ve vill find out vho killed 'ze bunny. But do not get your head all tvisted over 'zis. Get zome rest, ja? I strongly advise you do.' With that, Medic gently nodded before leaving Spy to his own thoughts, sitting down in his old wooden chair by the desk and looking over the paper-work that would last him well into the night. Even with the loss of a person, work had to plow on.

A small while later, the frog found himself leaning back on the bed, resting his hands on his bare chest before closing his eyes, the thoughts in his head swirling around. He felt sick, he felt in pain, he felt confused. But Medic was right; he needed to sleep on it to make his feelings die down.

Slowly, the darkness took over his troubled mind.


	6. Chapter 6: I wanna play first

50 minuets Spy had been hopping on that damn chair. 50 minuets of grunting and cursing in his foreign tongue while desperately reaching his weapon to free him from the curses of the rope bounding him to that chair. 50 minuets of panicked thoughts and pain streaming through his head as the time marched thoughtlessly on.

His gloved hand had tried and tried to un-do the rope bounding his right arm to the wood, but it had been knotted not once, not twice, not even three times, but an out-standing six. The same story for his bounded legs. They were tightly done, and only someone good at un-tying knots or some strong scissors or a knife were the only things fit to free his right the spook. It was bad enough that he only had one hand to work with - that wasn't even his writing or back-stabbing arm, which made things just that bit worse.

After more countless and pointless efforts of retrieving his Butterfly knife which lay sprawled out on the hard floor, now just a few cm from his tied feet, he pulled a face of annoyance and irritation as more pain pumped in his head. It was like he had giant head-phones on, and the only thing playing was that stupid "Furries in a Blender" cross with that "Renard", which was a cross of 8-bit remix music and a new thing called "Dubstep" that the RED Scout loved to blare as soon as he was back from the battle. And it didn't help that he was right next to his room, listening to every thump, every beat, and every lyric the remixed people spoke and sang. And the music was playing continuously. In his head. At a loud volume. Without stopping.

Getting quite desperate, Spy did the only thing he could other than think and claw his hand in mid-air.

He started to sway, forcing the chair to sway with him; not that it had any choice. They were practically fused together thanks to a few pieces of thick string.

After a strong sway to the right, another two would do it. He wanted to land on his right side, seeing as the "arm-he-always-used" wasn't usable right now. But, he swayed too hard to the left, and the legs gave way. They scraped on the concrete floor, and Spy flew with the chair. A loud yelp escaped his lungs as the floor collided with his side rather hard, yet he was lucky enough to keep his head from connecting with the ground.

Pain cursed through his arm, and Spy rested his head on the floor. 'Stupid chair...' He muttered, seeing the knife still pretty far away from his reach. Not that it helped that he was resting on the only arm he could move.

'I vill make 'ze person 'ho did 'zis to _me_ pay...'

* * *

'Ah, herr Scout!' The RED Medic called to the RED Scout, jogging over to him while rubbing his glasses more up his slim nose. 'Have you seen herr Spy?'

'Frenchie?' The boy stopped his little march, his radioactive drink falling slightly from thought. '...'as a matter 'a fact, nah, 'a ain't. Why?' The German looked un-pleased with the answer.

'...No reason, just vanted to tell him something.'

'Want me ta be da messenger?' Scout pipped up, his famous buck-tooth smile spreading across his perfect lips.

'Nien, 'zat von't be needed. Just keep an eye out for him, and if you zee him, tell him to report to me.'

'Gotcha!'

Scout did a poor salute before marching on, only making Medic gently shake his head with a faint smile marking his dry lips before moving on himself. As the Scout was about to round the corner and take a drink from his BONK!, he stopped dead again and looked over his shoulder. 'Yo, Doc!' He yelped. ''ave ya been ta 'is room?'

The German too stopped, taking a few moments of consideration into account.

'No, I do not think I have!' He called back. 'Vould you mind...?'

'Nah, I'll look for ya!'

'Ah, danka, comrade!' The boy just nodded his head gently and chuckled.

'Jack-ass.' He mumbled to himself, sipping his drink before jogging over to the Frenchies room. It was right next to his; which was quite unfortunate, since every time he left his room at gone 7 in the morning wearing only his long night-shirt, boxers and drooping socks, Spy would always give him a look. Not a disproved one or a look of disgust, a look Scout had never seen on his masked face before. He couldn't quite place his finger on it; he'd never seen it on the battlefield, nor was it a pissed off gaze. It was weird, and only made him want to dash for the hills.

Shaking the thoughts away, the boy skidded to a stop outside the mans door. He felt the odd need to brush away odd particles of dust from his red coloured shirt before smoothing down his trousers. Well, if he didn't do it then the frog would, muttering something about "proper dress ware" while blowing out the smoke from his drag. Why he smoked so much was a mystery to Scout, after countless of times he said that "'dat shit will kill ya, man".

'Yo, Spy?' Scout called gently, replacing his sudden nerves attitude with some-what masked courage. 'Ya in there? The Doc wants a word with ya.' Scout gently knocking on the old oak door with the back of his bandaged fist, and to his surprised, the always locked door slowly creaked open. Taking a step back - thinking it was Spy's doing and not his own - the bunny awaited the presence of the tall, slender frame of the French man.

But what stood in his wake was nothing more than emptiness.

Raising a brow, a foot was slowly entered into the Frenchies room. A strong smell of cigarettes and French perfume hit him in the face like a snowball, making him cough gently and wave his bandaged hand to waft away the smell and replace it with something fresher to breathe. 'Spy?' He called out again, placing another step inside the room.

It was like his own, expect a lot more cleaner and organized. His bed was averaged size - pushed up to the wall near the square window, with a neatly folded suit resting on the covers at the end. Next to the window a few feet away was a wardrobe. A few centimeters from the bed lay a desk and chair. The wood looked scratched from a sharp knife from stress and burnt from left cigarette buds. A pot full of pens and pencils laid to the top left while a stack of papers rested to the top right. But among the scratches and burns on the wood were a few very small spots of red.

Scout had never been in here before; sure, he'd been outside, leaning on the door-frame while Spy spoke to him, seeing only his wooden wardrobe while also watching the frog, with that stupid annoying accent and that smug look on his masked face while those light blue, sparkling eyes met his in ways that had his stomach fluttering for some strange reason...

But being inside was a whole new experience. It made him feel uneasy. It made him feel like something was watching him and wanting to kill him. He didn't like it.

It was obvious that the man wasn't in here, but just as he was about to run, his eyes kept averting to the red spots on the desk. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, something not good. His BLU counterpart had been killed a day ago. Now here lay red dots on the Spy's desk. It was giving his mind food for thought, and it was making his head hurt and stomach turn. But the dreadful thoughts slowly washed away.

'No...there's no way he's...'dat...' He shuck his head. 'He ain't 'dat sorta guy...' Sighing deeply, he turned around, his vision a little clouded. After a small pep talk to himself, he just smiled and chuckled. Just as he was about to reach the door with his bandaged hand, the door swung open slowly, seemingly on its own accord. Scouts eyes slowly widened when he saw the presence that stood before him.

'...Vhat are you doing 'ere?'

'...Oh...hi, Frenchie...!'

He looked down. Down, tired, and ill. The bags under his eyes had gathered, and his exposing skin was pale. A stressful and pained look was across his face, and he was holding his left arm, teeth gritted from hate and anger. To Scout, it looked like he was about to lunge forward and kill someone.

'Vhat are you doing in my room?' He asked again, this time his words were frozen, yet dripping with venom and death. It sent shivers rippling down his spine, and all the hairs to stand on end.

'Medic was lookin' for ya.' Trying to keep his cool was hard. 'I asked 'im if he'd come in 'ere, he'd said no, so I...?' He found himself being pushed out of the room by a lightly shaking hand on his back. '...I came 'ere to find you...'

'Vhere is it?'

'...What?'

Spy was outraged now. Something the boy had only seen when someone dominated him on the field. His face was twisted with hate and anger, his hands shaking, threatening to leap out at someone and strangle the life from them. 'Vhere are 'zey?!' He almost screamed.

'Where 'a what?!' He yelled back. As he turned around to face him, he met the fearful gaze from the French man. He looked mad. Killer mad.

'...Get out!' With a firm push, Scout flew back, and the door slammed on him before he could yelp another word in. A clueless look flew onto his face, but it was soon replaced with anger. 'Crazy-ass! Don't forget ta go ta Medic! Maybe he'll cure ya!' With that, he stomped off in a huff.

Meanwhile, Spy was panicking and going out of his mind. His eyes darted everywhere before his gloved hands began in tearing everything apart to look for the special item. He ripped away the covers, almost everything in his wardrobe, then tore away the clothes on the floor to see if they'd fallen there, then re-checked everything again before a small whimper escaped him. Had someone stole it? Who'd taken it away? Would they catch on that he'd done the terrible deed?

After a few painfully slow moments, he slowly gathered his screwed up thoughts together. Calming his shaking body down, his sighed deeply. His gloved hands slowly turned from fists to open palms, and his fearful eyes averted to the desk. The red spots he'd forgotten to clean left an imprinted image in his mind of the item he was threatening about, which almost made his mind spiral out of control again.

'Non, keep calm, mon ami...' He whispered to himself, rubbing a gloved hand on his masked temple. 'Go see 'ze Medic...' Looking over the room again, he retreated out of there quicker than a flash of lighting.

He made sure to close and lock the door before he left.


	7. Chapter 7: Make you suffer

'Ah, herr Spy, come in.' As soon as a step was taken inside the Medics infirmary, he felt a wave of cool air whoosh into his face. It was quite a nice feeling after walking all that way just to get there only to find small beads of sweat marking their way down his face and sinking into the cloth hiding his identity. Taking a deep breath, he entered, the heavy doors behind him gently swinging to a close.

'You called?' His voice sounded groggy and almost weak. Even the French-man could pick up on that fact, only making him feel a little more "out-of-place" and strange.

'Ja. I just vanted to ask how you vere doing.' He strode over to the RED Spy, a dove perched on his left shoulder. Its trade-mark were the blood-splatters staining its white feathers, and anyone knew that that dove was his move favored one of all.

Archimedes cooed gently as his wings flapped, its head pecking under its wing, a few stray feathers drifting onto the Germans shoulder, which were whisked away in the gentle wind before turning its almost soulless and beady eyes back to the Spy. Not one for being a bird fan, the Spy just huffed and shuck his head. To be intimidated by a bird was insulting on his pride; why he felt shivers ripple down his spine was as much as a mystery as what thing the Pyro was. Maybe it was all the stress that was causing him to be so nervous over such little and irreverent things such as a little bird.

Because of Medic's size, the German had to bend down slightly so their eyes could lock and he could get a proper close-up examination on his patient. Almost immediately, he picked up on all the bags littering the under parts of his eyes, how tired the man looked. ...Was he even shivering? Surly not from cold... It was far too hot for any of that nonsense... Had he caught something?

'Stressed?' The answer was plain and simple.

'Is it 'zat bad 'zat you can notice it...?' A hint of disappointment dripped from his words, followed by the gentle wind of play trailing behind them. A small smirk played at his lips, the stress from before seemingly melting away. He was getting into the habit of not caring, forgetting what happened before.

The dove cooed gently again before tilting its head, staring at the French-man with curious-black eyes. Something about a birds eye really made the Spy feel uncomfortable, but even now that seemed to fade away as well as he stared blankly at the dove.

'You need sleep. Just to get rid of some of 'ze stress. If you're proud of vhat you have done, you vill have no problem in getting better.'

'Oh, do not vorry so, Doctor, I vill 'ave no regrets of 'ze decision I 'ave made. I assure you.'

'If he comes back to haunt you, I vill not help you.'

There was no hint of it being a joke, more of it being a strong fact. His face remained straight and serious as he turned away, walking over to his cupboard of many pills. Stretching the door out, Archimedes hopped around to face the Spy, who only stared back. Its head tilted, blinking as it mirrored the action, only to be snapped out of it thanks to a swift movement from the Medic, to which it cooed gently.

'Hold out your hand.' Doing so, two small white tablets were popped into Spy's gloved hand.

'Zhese are...?'

'Sleeping pills, in case you cannot sleep.'

'I vill not be needing 'zh-'

'Take 'zhem anyvay. Even if you say you vill not regret it, it vill not fear in stopping you from having a good nights sleep, ja?' They exchanged glances, Spy's dark eyes being averted to the dove ever-so-calmly perched on his shoulder before falling his gaze back on the German. His hand enclosed, and he gave a small nod.

'Merci.'

'Danke.'

'Vill 'zat be all?'

'Ja. Sleep tightly.'

'Oh, and Medic?'

Tilting his head, he watched the man before him, stop mid-way walking and cock his head a little over his shoulder to look at the German. ''ave you...seen any dog-tags anyvhere?'

'Dog-tags? ...Oh. Nein, I have not.' A look of worry and sadness mixed into one washed over his masked face, and giving yet another small nod to him, rushed out of the door. Quick and light foot-steps were heard echoing down the hall-way, only making the Medic raise an un-gloved finger and stroke the dove under its chin gently. Cooing, the bird stretched its neck out a little more to give more fluffy space for the finger to rub.

* * *

The night was cold. Stars were littered across the sky, some in tight packs while others seemed to be spread out across the black and blue sky. Doves fluttered and cooed gently on the Snipers deck on the RED side, pecking under their wings or just mindlessly flapping them, and a few even had small brawls over nothing. A few odd feathers were whistled away in the wind, some landing in the pond while others by-passed to the BLU base. Two or three flew down to the dusty ground, pecking it before walking around, pecking the ground again like normal pigeons would.

But then, a figure appeared from the darkness behind the fence. His steps were sloppy, dragging against the ground, small dust clouds floating weakly into the air before fading away. The few doves on the floor spun their heads to face the thing, their heads bobbing and twitching the air as they watched it emerge from darkness.

Slowly, its fingers curled around the metal fence, one of its hands wrapped in bandages while the other hand was shown. Its face couldn't be seen because of the low shadow that slopped down, only from the hip down could it be seen, and even then the view wasn't that good because of the ever-so-growing darkness. It didn't move another inch. All it did was seemingly stare at the doves, who just stared back with the same level of blind interest.

After slow minuets passed, a dove with blood splatters covering its feathers plucked up enough courage from the ground, laboring its wings and flying to the top of the fence. It landed with great grace, its soulless eyes continuing to watch the figure below it. A small spot of movement was seen, though it didn't stir the close bird.

Then, it flapped its wings, and landed on the figures left shoulder, cooing gently as it went to peck at the worn feathers under its wings, small slightly grey ones falling onto the persons shoulder before being washed away in the wind. The figures bandaged hand let go of the fence, going up to the bird, and with a gentle coo, the dove hopped onto the two out-stretched fingers, like it had been doing so with the same person for years.

A small sound was heard from the person, light and weak. Then, it slowly lowered to the floor, trying to cause as little sudden fear to the bird as possible. He sat down, pulling a piece of slightly yellowed paper into view, a char-coal pencil in his right hand while the dove remained seated on his left. After a little time, he'd manged to not only rip a small piece of the paper as big as that "note paper" everyone used, but also had a crowd watching from either the top of the fence line or on the shell-covered ground, all cooing gently. Some flapped their wings randomly while others got into small brawls, but all the while staying to watch this person do whatever he was doing, as well as their birdy friend.

Scribbling something down, he lowered the hand holding the bird before, in a very quick flash, wrapping the paper around its right leg. Cooing from the sudden "wrap-attack", it flapped its wings and took off, alerting the others to do the same. The air was filled with doves and the sound of flapping wings, lose feathers flying everywhere. Luckily, the paper stayed attached to the blood-covered dove, and the figure slowly got up, watching the flock disappear. And then, he slunk off into the shadows, the darkness swallowing him up once more.

* * *

'Oh, Archimedes! I vondered vhere you vere! And 'ze rest of you, too! Vhere have you been? ...'

All the doves flocked in at once through the partly opened window, a few not making it by the flap of their wings and either banging to the floor both inside or outside. 'Has something spooked you...?'

The blood-splattered dove was the first to greet him, landing on his shoulder and cooing rather loudly. The rest of the white birds landed on varies things, like medical equipment, desks, one even knocked over a pile of stacked papers to the floor. After a small while, they all calmed, and resorted to pecking the feathers under there wings and other places, the slightly grey feathers falling from their small bodies.

The German looked around, a little puzzled by what just happened. The few doves that had crashed to the floor were up and flapping to a higher place in the medial bay.

'Archimedes...vhat is 'zat on your leg?' Spotting the piece of paper, he gently tugged it off, a few distressed coo's escaping it. Medic saw his doves as friends, not messenger birds. Being classed as that slightly offended the German. His doves weren't just "messenger birds", but more friends, people with their own state of minds and ways, as he would say. But, if people saw them as just that by an anonymous person, then so be it.

Unraveling the note, the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. His brows shot up to his hairline, and he tilted his head in confusion.

"TEll **s**p**Y** Im **s**TIll alIvE"


End file.
